


Not All Battles Are Fought With Bullets

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Vignettes - Spoiler Alert!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 13:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14672064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Sergeant Major Rawlins had come to the Mansion to do a job, nothing too complicated, just handle some of the paperwork, some of the training, and keep this unusual group of men from disappearing into the English countryside.  Somehow, it turned out to be much more than that!  A series of vignettes over a period of time, relating some of the trials and tribulations of the team during their time in that little English village.  Spoiler alert in effect!





	Not All Battles Are Fought With Bullets

Putting Food on the Table: 

It was a kind of petty harrassment, just one more thing to put an edge on tempers, fuel the undercurrent of resentment. The guys on the Base did enjoy their little 'jokes', or so they called them. The Supply Chief thought it was a real thigh-slapper to 'misplace' the rations for the Mansion; oh, never for long, just for an extra day or so - just long enough for meals that one day, maybe two days, to get really tight, Not enough for the Sergeant Major to make a formal complaint without getting laughed at. Not long enough for the harried officer in charge at the Mansion, Lieutenant Craig Garrison, to realize there was a deliberate intent behind the shortage, nothing more than the usual inevitable SNAFU's you'd expect during wartime. Well, those responsible probably figured he made his meals separately anyway, not realizing the effort he was making to be a part of the team, not just its leader. However, Garrison was focused on other things right now, like trying to get the guys in condition, get them trained, acting as a team - trying to get them prepared for their increasingly difficult missions. 

And there was someone on the inside who had to be letting the Supply Chief know when the guys were gone on a mission; oh, not then, of course, that was against all regulations and might provide information to the enemy. Not then, but once the guys got back, so the Supply Chief made sure to 'adjust' the supplies sent over, since, as he told the protesting Sergeant Major, "you've got to have a backlog over there, mister; they were gone part of the month. They'll get enough to eat; may have to tighten their belts, but we're all doing that, now aint we. Thought they were supposed to be the tough guys, used to roughing it. Sides, nothing for YOU to gripe about; the guards and you, you got your own set of rations, you're not hurting."

In actuality, the non-com made it a point, when he had to put that sort of restriction on the team, he put himself on the same restriction; he felt that would make sure he was taking things as seriously as he should. Not the guards, no, that was a different matter; but he was the one responsible for keeping the team fed, and he felt doing that gave him a better perspective of the whole matter. Sometimes he thought that was the problem, that the ones giving the orders to march into battle, or sneak into France and pull off some risky business, or go without proper food and such, well, it wasn't them suffering the consequences, so they never really understood, not on a personal 'know what it feels like' sort of way. {"Sort of like that Frenchy queen when she was told the folks were rioting because they didn't 'ave any bread. 'Er with so many other things on 'er plate, couldn't see not 'aving bread was such an issue - saying they should eat cake or something else instead - not knowing or understanding, for them bread was all they'd pretty much 'ad in the first place."} 

In the beginning, it HAD worked out, thanks to careful management by the Sergeant Major, but repeated 'adjustments', a few outright confiscations that truly ate up any backlog of supplies, 'on behalf of the Orphanage and Old Folks Home, Sergeant Major; gotta remember we're guests here! Have to do our part, you know!" (and the British non-com found that whole comment just a bit insulting on more than one level) and now it wasn't working out.

The shipment for the guards had shifted to once a week so there wasn't any he could 'liberate' from that stock, even considering his direct orders to never, never do any such a thing. The shipment for the big house, the team, well, that was kept to the once a month, supposedly because of their erratic presence, so when the shipment didn't arrive or was incomplete, it made a real impact on their lives.

Sergeant Major thought about once again telling bruised-eyed men just back from whatever hell they'd been in for two weeks, "sorry, there's no coffee, not even the ersatz; no, no tea either. I've put a trace on the shipment", or telling an exhausted group just in from running the obstacle course for the second time (and that after hours of other physical training) in preparation for a rough mission coming up that, "supply truck didn't come in this morning; we're on 'alf-rations til it does; Base aint sure just when that'll be", or serving another round of the least favored survival Army Rations for the fourth meal in a row (since that was most of what the last shipment consisted of, not a balance between the various kinds available the way it was supposed to be), and he wanted to give someone a good kick.

If he found it annoying and frustrating and physically challenging to be on such a regimen, well, he'd look around at the faces at that table, and know how much worse it was for them, having to board those airplanes or submarines and go do some fierce job and try to make it back again. At least the cigarette ration had been left alone; the Supply Chief valued his head too much to mess with that! 

That, the trouble over the supplies, changed, pretty much, after the Lieutenant's sister struck up a friendship with the O'Donnell lass down at the Cottage. First there was Miss Lynn cursing a blue streak because the men were due back from a mission in just a couple of hours and damn all in the place to eat; well, he knew it, and felt really bad about it, but Base Supply had said earlier that 'if they aren't there, well, there's no hurry; you'll get it in plenty of time'. Now, when he made the second call and told them the team was due back that afternoon, he was told they'd 'just have to wait til morning, when Supply could send a truck over, IF we can locate the supplies before then'; he'd heard the snicker in that voice and wanted to do some cursing of his own.

He'd been about to head over to where the guards' supplies were stored, to see if he could pull out enough to cover the next one or two meals, though there wasn't much over there either, the weekly shipment for the guards due two days out. Oh, there was enough to carry the guards through til then, but none extra; and he wasn't supposed to be taking from one for the other anyway. He even thought about heading down to the pub to see what he could come up with there, but it wasn't one of the nights they served food, and even if they did, it would be hours away before it was prepared, and he simply didn't have the money to pay for that. He was fair at a loss. 

Next thing you know, there's Miss Lynn and the O'Donnell Miss roaring up in the car, loaded down with all kinds of things; he'd tried to make a token protest, about that not being rations, and near got his head bit off. Well, he hadn't really minded, not one bit; was more than a little relieved if he were to tell the truth. He'd known they weren't truly angry with him, but with the whole situation just as he was.

It had been a shock to see the redhead whirling around in his kitchen, and before you could say Bob's Your Uncle, there was big pots of wonderful-smelling soup with chunks of turkey and vegetables and fat noodles, and big pans of dressing in the oven, along with vegetables from her garden, and stacks of a kind of puffy flat bread she made special and kept on hand in the freezer (said it was a family recipe). And more in the cold box for making a breakfast like he hadn't seen in years, and some things he'd never seen before. Now, all that was going overboard, in his opinion, but he recognized his opinion hadn't been asked, and he remembered what had been told him when he'd offered it without being asked, so he kept his mouth shut. Well, til Miss Lynn sat a big bowl of that soup in front of him, a piece of that bread in his hand, and told him, "NO! You eat what they eat any other time, you eat what they eat today!" and Miss O'Donnell nodding at him sternly.

Well, he'd known who Miss O'Donnell was; had his own contacts up at HQ, worked with the other non-coms who helped the Special Forces teams. Knew all about her rather fierce reputation locally too, took part in Big Mike's pool about the damage she'd do next. Somehow, he'd just never expected her to be able to cook like that, soup as good as his mother could have made, easy, maybe better, though he wouldn't be the one breaking the news of that to Mrs. Dotty Rawlins anytime soon. Well, in a manner of speakinig, her being gone many years now, but still. Though he thought he just might ask for the recipe, wondering just what spices she'd used, AND for that bread, which he could see being useful in lots of different ways. Those pans of dressing, rich and moist, with celery and onions and sage, well, when servings were dipped out, big chunks of turkey was in there, too; and the vegetables, roasted and seasoned, hot and crispy and tasting like they'd been picked that day. Didn't surprise him when Miss Lynn had laughed at his comment and told him, "they were; she picked them while I sat there drinking her god-awful strong chicory coffee and watching her!" 

And that's what it all was, too; fresh stuff from her garden, and things she'd harvested earlier and put up for storage, food she'd gotten from her family's farms (including the turkey she'd cooked and put up in jars, meat and broth both), other things she'd bartered for. He later learned they'd mostly cleaned out what she'd put away to carry her over for the winter, there only being the one of her and her away as much as she was, but there was no begruding on her part that he could see, only a fierce determination that they be fed, now, and fed well. She'd brought sweets, too; nothing fancy, just sweet crackers, nut butter and honey, but enough to put a huge smile on Goniff's face.

Rawlins had gotten the odd feeling that that smile, oh the other smiles too, but that one in particular, that had been all the thanks she'd wanted or expected. Her face had softened from its stern, almost angry look, when that smile broke out, and there had been a hint of a smile on her face then, and not the motherly, big sister smile Miss Lynn got, but something different, similar in some ways but different - something in her eyes maybe. He hoped that didn't mean trouble down the line, but he shrugged, thinking he had enough to worry about without stretching for things. The Lieutenant hadn't quarrelled with her being there, or what she'd done, he was too tired and hungry and glad to see his men getting some comfort at the end of their journey, but the next day he had a long discussion in his office with Miss Lynn and then called him in, asking hard questions, requiring honest answers. 

While that first conversation had started with a mild scolding for bringing an outsider to the Mansion, after Garrison heard him out, his mood changed and he knew there were things he'd let slip by in his preoccupation with the bigger picture.

Sergeant Major hadn't wanted to concern the Lieutenant about the supplies and all the adjustments he'd been making, about pulling in some of the rations from the guards who'd been on leave and not able to use them (against all regulations, at that), and as a matter of honor putting himself on half-rations when he was obliged to order that for them, but now, over a small glass of offered whiskey, and then a second larger one poured without even asking him whether he wanted it, found himself relating the whole story of the trials and tribulations of keeping the men fed, and about the games played on Base.

While Garrison had sincerely, if somewhat grimly appreciated and thanked him for his efforts on their behalf, he also gave a firm order that, if such happened again, he wanted to know about it immediately; that the Sergeant Major wasn't supposed to be a miracle worker; that he wasn't in this alone, that "we're a TEAM". That had struck him, somehow, in an uncomfortable sort of a way, the Lieutenant saying that about Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins, about him being part of a team. 

A new thought, that - a part of Garrison's team, instead of just some faceless senior guard assigned to the Mansion, someone who just happened to be assigned here to keep them in line and fed, keep things organized and help with the reports and such, not really a part of them. It somehow shifted the lines on the diagram in his mind. It gave him a bit of an odd feeling, and brought up thoughts, questions he reckoned might take him till the end of the war to resolve.

For one thing, when he'd been told 'we are a team', had the Lieutenant meant that he and Garrison were a team, a team responsible for the other four men? Or did that mean that Garrison and those other four, they were his team mates, and just how he felt about that, how it might change how he acted, well, that was a puzzlement, wasn't it? And where did the other guards fit in? What about those who gave the orders??

But one thing for sure, that conversation, well, you might say that was a turning point, one that led to his life becoming much more complicated. He found himself wondering if the obstacle course fiasco, both parts of it, hadn't been a turning point for Private Jenkins; from their conversation, the non-com thought it just might have been, and wondered just how many turning points this old house, this village just might see before it was all over and wondered just how many lives it might change. 

And then, afore you know it, the Lieutenant had gone to the Base and had a few private words with the Supply Chief, and all of a sudden, the shipments were just as they ought to be, at least for now. Still Rations, of course, (though more a mix of some of the B's and quite a lot of the C's with some but not very many of the despised K's, rather than the increasingly heavily tilted assortment of before), and still ersatz coffee more often than real, and the liquor still remarkably bad, but pretty much what field troops had, and even Base troops part of the time. Sergeant Major was even told, grudgingly, that he could purchase some A supplies locally (locally grown produce and the like) if he could come up with the funds; of course, there was no increase in the budget to cover any of that, but at least the official permission was there if he ever could come up with the money, which meant no investigation or punishment if the inspectors found any of that in the Mansion kitchen, within reason of course, and Rawlins knew how variable a thing THAT was in the military. Garrison started slipping him some out of his own pay packet, enough to cover a few real eggs now and then, maybe a bit else. 

What the Base didn't know about, at least so far, was about the extra food, along with extra medical supplies, that found their way to the Mansion. Miss O'Donnell called it 'shares', though not explaining, at least not to him, shares of what or why they were getting them. Not enough to actually feed the men, certainly, even with them gone so much, but enough to round out the rations, enough they were somewhat more on a par with how the regular troops on the Base were fed. The Lieutenant seemed aware of all that, not necessarily comfortable, but aware, and didn't do anything to stop the shipments.

And she showed up, more and more frequently, with special treats, things she'd baked in particular, an occasional pot of something she'd cooked up, maybe a dozen eggs she'd come across, along with an occasional bottle of something less poisonous than what they were allocated or what could be purchased at the Pub. After the first time, she hadn't even bothered to use the excuse that she'd made too much, that she wanted to avoid waste; well, how do you accidentally make enough extra to feed the whole lot of them? They were just offered, from her to them, in a spirit both humble and proud and he didn't know how to respond, so he just accepted.

The med kits, somehow now when he reached for the sulfa or aspirin or linament or bandages, they were mostly there, he wasn't just fumbling in vain through empty spaces, and he knew he could make a call to that special number on that slip of paper inside the Lieutenant's top drawer, and so far, the special things he needed showed up, (without requisitioning from the Base hospital or HQ time after time and often never receiving what he'd needed even after the waiting; well, he knew they had real shortages there too, but still); no, now it just showed up for him to pick up at the clinic in the village, and quickly too, and he didn't even question where it came from, except for knowing it wasn't from those who were supposed to be providing such things to the team - the quinine for Lieutenant Garrison and his occasional bout of malaria, a holdover from his North Africa days; penicillin for wounds, where the military hospital said they'd had their share already, never mind that knife slash and the resulting stubborn infection that needed treating; even morphine on one memorable occasion that the non-com didn't even want to think about for the nightmares it'd caused, and not just him. 

Sergeant Major was quite sure how the powers-that-be would view all that, so he'd taken steps. The med-kit was kept in Lieutenant Garrison's room, under lock and key (not that lock and key would ever stop this lot, and both he and the Lieutenant knew that, counted on it even; well, what use were the supplies if they couldn't get to them if needed, anyway?). Even the box, that had come special, with the Miss showing them it was really like one of them Chinese puzzle boxes; that the latch and lock WORKED and would let any outsider think it was well-secured, but there was more than one way to get in, a way you wouldn't expect if you didn't know about it. He'd watched in amazement as she pressed one of the rivets on one side so it stayed in, then another, and glory, the whole top flipped back; she explained it was made so you could do it with one hand, even, if that's all you had to work with! He'd decided then she had a real tricksey mind, and was relieved she was on their side. All that, along with that new doctor in town who seemed well-disposed toward the team, and the first aid the O'Donnell Miss provided when asked, it was far better than it had once been.

And as far as the food was concerned, the kitchen was kept pretty much off-limits to all his guards, except two he'd come to trust to have the team's well-being in mind. Private Jenkins, Private Perkins, they both seemed to have a kindness of heart that let them view these men as just that, men. And men fighting the same war they were, and out in the thick of it, and deserving of some respect and consideration, no matter the foolishness they got up to sometimes; no, they'd not be telling tales or playing nasty games; good lads they were, both of them.

And there was that small room, on the Off-Limits side where the guards didn't go, nor the inspectors either, least so far, with shelves and tin boxes already in place, where things from those 'shares' could end up. It was a bit out of the way to fetch what was needed, but it was safe, and where it couldn't be easily found and confiscated like so much else had been. So the extra food, never really large amounts but enough to fill in, enough to tide them over if there ever WAS another delay of the supply truck, was out of sight, and only the things that required the freezer or refrigeration in places an inspection might turn up; so far that hadn't happened but once, and he'd grabbed what there was and tucked it away out of sight, and then back where it needed to be once they'd left; well, there wasn't all so much of that sort of thing anyway. 

And it wasn't what he knew the Brass would say; they weren't eating high on the hog while others on the Base suffered. No, he was on the Base often enough to know that for a fact. The Base got mostly A and B Rations, and that included fresh local things, when they were available, and bulk frozen and dried stuffs, and while it wasn't mother's home cooking in most cases, it weren't anywhere near in the category of what those in the field got, what was being sent to the Mansion. That's partly why the soldiers stationed here headed up to the Base on their days off, to get decent hot meals, and that was with the guards already getting an outright better mix in their parcels.

Oh, the team still ate plenty of those Army Rations; just, not to the extent the Base thought they did, not placing sole reliance on them. There was no waste; he'd never abide that, (not that would have been an issue with Goniff around anyway, a bottom-less pit he was, more or less!) but now they were fed more in accordance of what was being asked of them. And while he usually took his meal with the guards when the special things were on the table, not feeling right about him having what his troops weren't getting, once in a while he was persuaded to join the team at the table, especially when Lieutenant Garrison declared it a meeting, when Miss O'Donnell had been slammin around in the kitchen, and he'd look at the faces of the men at the table and know he'd done right in helping to make this happen, no matter how the Brass might take it. And he'd see her watching their faces as well, waiting for that smile, and once it came, then her eyes reflected perhaps a number of things, contentment, satisfaction, and more, and he knew she knew she'd done right as well. He wasn't sure when or where his stance had shifted, but it had, and he would have to learn how to deal with it. Everyone had their own burdens to bear in this war, and it seemed this was part of his.

**  
And Clothes On My Back:

"How do they expect me to wear this? It's impossible," Actor was fuming, looking down at himself. He'd gotten out the sewing kit, but left it open on the table; it was obviously hopeless. His trousers were a good three inches shorter than they should have been, the legs tight through the thighs and crotch, yet drooping around the waist. The tunic was, if anything, even worse. And while it was an amusing sight, one they did laugh over, at least everyone except the one wearing that monstrosity of a uniform, there was an undercurrent of anger and frustration under that laughter.

Goniff was sitting there in clothes not just the usual one to two sizes too large, but in fatigues he could fit another his size into without much effort. Only him cinching in that belt as far as it would go kept the trousers from dropping straight off him, he had the cuffs turned up so many times they were big rolls around his ankles, and the tunic hung to the middle of his knees.

Casino, on the other hand, had to practically use a shoehorn to get into his fresh tunic, and as soon as he'd reached for the matches on the fireplace mantal, the arm seam had ripped in the back. He and Goniff had considered switching, but Casino wasn't willing to give up the pants since they actually fit somewhat, and Casino's tunic would still have swallowed Goniff, and Chief was just glowering at his set; well, not a set, since there was only a tunic, no trousers at all.

The clothes they'd just taken off were filthy and smelled exceedingly ripe; well, the new Sergeant Major, the one filling in for Gil Rawlins while he was away teaching a training course, he'd had them over the obstacle course a record four times, and the water hazzard had proved to be just that on the last round, them not having quite enough umph left to make it all the way across without getting wet and muddy. Goniff had barely been able to make it back to the Mansion upright and was still trying to rub out those painful muscle spasms, and his complexion was a rather alarming shade of red, and of the others, only Chief looked like he might make it to lunchtime before falling down. 

"Where are our others? Maybe they aren't too dirty to put back on?"

A voice from the doorway, stern, remote, "your others have been sent out for cleaning, of course, along with the guards' uniforms. And if you'd gotten through the training in the time you should have, those you just took off would have gone with them. Guess you'd be easy on the next shipment, looks like you'll be short a batch. Now, get shifted, lunch is on the table, look lively."

Chief snarled at him, "no pants with these; supposed to go down without any?"

He got a cold, "I'd suggest you get whichever of your friends who snitched them to give them back. I don't care how you sort it out, just do it! You're either at the table with your privates covered in ten minutes or the food gets put back and you'll do without, the whole lot of you. Now shuck out of those filthy ones, and put them in the basket with the others."

Chief was an inherently private man, didn't like going naked around anyone, but years of prison and now this army service had taught him the futility of protesting. They were all down for lunch within the ten minutes, and while Sergeant Major Alfred Taylor made a few comments, still, Goniff, acting the clown, got away with sitting there in his way oversized tunic and his boxers while Chief wore those oversized trousers that had been part of Goniff's uniform. 

It wasn't a pleasant lunch, the atmosphere thick enough to cut with a knife, and the half-portions of Army Rations not particularly tempting, though eaten quickly enough. Well, the half-rations at breakfast pretty much guaranteed that.

"No coffee, Sergeant Major?" Actor asked; it had been decided he had a better grip on his temper than Casino (well, that wasn't a surprise), Chief avoided talking if he could, and Goniff's chattering way would just get the non-com annoyed, that had been well proven since the man's arrival, and who knows what that would cause; the results of the last episode had been rather unpleasant for the Cockney.

A cold look from Taylor told them what the answer would be, "no coffee. Perhaps a little more effort from you lot would gain you some privileges, but somehow I don't see that happening. Rawlins is too soft on you, that's what the problem is. Maybe I'll just have a word about that with them that do the assignments; what you need is someone who can make you toe the mark!" A dark pulse seemed to be coming from Chief, and if the team read it right, Taylor wouldn't survive to be that 'someone'. The looks from Casino and Goniff weren't much better. Actor gave a tiny shake of his head to the men. 

A miserable afternoon balanced out their miserable morning, complete with another unbelievable four rounds on the obstacle course, the evening meal as bad if not worse than the other two of the day, seemingly even less than half-portions. What was even more unbelievable, Goniff had pushed his portion over to the others, "split this up, mates; can't stomach it right now." That, from the perpetually hungry Cockney, really was worrisome; thankfully, Taylor wasn't in the room and couldn't kick up a fuss when they, after making sure he meant it, finished the food and slid the plate back.

Back in the dorm, the Common Room having been put off limits to them under the current regime, Casino groused, "just how long til Rawlins is back? Shit, we're better off across the Channel than we are here with this bozo!"

Actor heaved a deep sigh; this past week had been interminable. Half-rations, grinding physical workouts, seemingly endless yelling. The Common Room had become 'a privilege to be earned, and you aint'; the library had been put strictly off-limits, as was the kitchen, the gardens, and pretty much anywhere other than the dorm, the loo and where ever Taylor was raking them over the coals or putting them through some misery.

Obviously any trips down to the Pub were out of the question, and Goniff's trips down to the Cottage to see after the garden had come to a crashing halt. He didn't know if she knew about the restriction. Well, he wasn't even sure she was down there yet, though he thought she'd been due back a couple, three days ago. {"If she is back, she's got to be wondering why I've not been around. 'Ope she doesn't come bringing a basket; that'd set the bastard off sure enough!"} 

Taylor had armed guards in endless rotation, which frankly hadn't made him too popular in those ranks either, along with those spot inspections of the guards barracks that had ended up with four men on report for having liquor or cigarettes he said they shouldn't be having in their quarters. Fact is, those were the four responsible for holding all the liquor and cigarettes for the whole contingent, doling them out according to some arcane system of their own. The confiscation of those supplies, well, that had caused Taylor's face to appear on the targets at each firing practice, both the teams AND the guards, at least in the minds of those with the guns if not in actuality.

The team had looked forward to this down time, hoping to get rested, maybe relax a bit after that last gruelling mission, recover from some of the bruises, muscle strain, those two days without food and water before the sub picked them up. Now, they were almost hoping for a mission, though not with anyone other than the Lieutenant. With him they were a well-oiled team; with someone else, well, that was another story. He understood them, enough to get the best out of them, enough to make sure they got home more or less in one piece, but he was pretty much the only one they trusted to do that. 

Actor drew his attention back to reply to the comment, "I rather agree with you, Casino; however, our own Sergeant Major will be gone another two weeks, and the Lieutenant, well, who knows how long. We weren't given any particulars about this solo mission he was sent on. I just hope it's soon, before they start thinking of sending us out with someone else. That would not be good."

"So we just sit and wait? No, let me rephrase that. We just let him wear us down to nothing in the meantime?"

Goniff had a thoughtful look on his face, "well, there's maybe something we can do. Chiefy, give me back those pants, will you? Cover for me; shouldn't be long," he smirked at them.

Actor frowned, "Goniff, what are you up to? This one, he doesn't fool around; he'll have you in the Stockade on bread and water if you try anything."

He just got a sly and somewhat bitter look, "worth the risk, mates. Another few rounds on the obstacle course like 'e 'ad us doing today, it'll do for me for sure! Could 'ear my 'earbeat louder than your voices til just a minute or two ago, and my stomach's still pitching."

Actor had to acknowledge the probable truth of that; their naturally pale team mate had been flushed a most unhealthy shade of red for an uncomfortable length of time, and for him to bypass food was unheard of. He slipped out as if headed for the loo, then was gone. Sure enough, twenty minutes later, here he was being hauled back into the dorm by the scruff of his neck by the Sergeant Major.

"And stay here, you little cockroach!" and the cringing small blond was tossed to the center of the floor. "And the rest of you! Going to use the loo don't mean spending twenty minutes in there playing with yourself! That you can do here; hell, maybe make it a competition! Might end up making your nights a lot more interesting; you play it right you could get to be real popular!" and with a coarse laugh was gone.

Chief and Casino helped pick up Goniff off the floor, "well, that went better than I expected," Actor sighed, only to be taken aback by a sly and triumphant grin from the little Cockney, "couldn't 'ave said it better myself, Actor!" And in a very low voice he told him of what he'd attempted, what he might just have put into play. No, it wasn't a guarantee, there were too many unknowns, but it was a chance.

They were roused at 4:30, told to get dressed and get ready for the morning's training. Actor asked about when clothing replacements might be arriving, to get a gruff reply of "whenever the hell they get here!" and the sneering recommendation that they "try to keep tidy" in the meantime. Considering it had rained again during the night and the obstacle course would be muddier than it was yesterday, and that appeared to be what was on part of the schedule today, they rather doubted 'tidy' was in their future.

Breakfast was again half-rations, no coffee, which didn't help their dispositions any. Even Goniff, usually the more cheerful of the lot, at least outwardly, was gloomy; the day was chilly and sitting around in just the tunic and his shorts wasn't helping. Still, he couldn't quite let Chiefy run around like that either; he knew it bothered the other man more than it would him, and his tunic covered a lot more than Chief's would have. "Ruddy 'ell, much more of this, I'm gonna be worn to a nubbin," and the mood was so grim no one even twitted him about that, not even Casino, who usually could have been counted on for at least a snort and a "whatta ya mean, gonna be, ya little Limey??!"

Sergeant Major banged a cup on the door frame, "alrighty you shirkers! Ten minutes, by the door. Firing range first up!" Actor looked out the window, but knew protesting it was still dark out wouldn't help. Well, they did a lot of shooting in the dark, when they had to, but it took a lot more bullets to achieve their goal. He rather doubted the Sergeant Major would take that in consideration; he could see at least one additional trek around the obstacle course in their future, and he doubted those target accuracy reports would bother to indicate they were done in darkness. They looked at each other, four fellow sufferers, got up, cleared their dishes, and went to stand in the big entry by the door. 

They were just about ready to head out when a call came from the gate, a message given to the non-com, eliciting a huge frown but a reluctant nod. Soon the front door opened, and there she stood, near six foot of rather spectacularly built, bleached blond WAC, hat perched precariously on a rather billowing mass of coiled and fluted hair, briefcase in one hand, reaching out the other to firmly shake the Sergeant Major's hand. He looked up slightly to meet her shining blue-grey eyes.

"GOOD morning, Sergeant Major, uh, Taylor, isn't it? Ever so good to meet you!" Enthusiasm fairly flowed from her, and her voice was an exhilarating trill.

His hand ached slightly from the energetic grip, "uh, yes, well," he stammered, trying to keep his eyes away from that rather magnificent bust-line.

"Amelia Haven Halloran, stationed out of London HQ. Previously British Liaison assigned to your Army, Fort Campbell, quite close to Nashville, in Tennessee. Known for music, food, bourbon and quite lovely gardens, as you probably know; well, of course you do! Heard nothing gets past you, Sergeant Major, always in the know! Been assigned to do joint duty, British and Yank hands across the sea and all that." She smiled winningly, "and I have to admit, I do fancy the WAC uniform; quite nicely put together."

Sergeant Major Taylor took a good look and the expression on his face said he agreed with her. Actually, the team kinda did too, especially Casino. Well, yes, and the uniform looked pretty good too. 

"I'm to do the inspections of the Special Services teams, don't you know. Seems they've been rather overlooked, and there's a worry they've been left a bit too much on their own string without proper oversight, that they're possibly not quite up to muster. Well, we've ways to pull them up by their bootstraps, if need be, if that's the case," and a smug, superior smile filled her face.

Taylor took a quick look at the men gathered there and a brief malicious smile flashed across his face, "well, this is a sorry lot, to be sure. I've not been here long, a week or so, just filling in while their regular is away, but I'm afraid he rather let things slide."

A disapproving frown marred that smooth forehead, "hmmm, well, that can't be allowed to continue, can it? Very well, Sergeant Major, perhaps you might give me an outline of what you've set in place for them today, and we can kill two birds with one stone, eh?" She cast a rather disparaging look at the four men, and the smile on her face was rather sinister, "at least two birds, isn't that right, Sergeant Major?" Her inviting little laugh and now much more pleasant smile was rather appealing, if you were the one it was being directed toward, and the Sergeant Major seemed to be eating it up, from that way his head came up in a proud stance.

"But first, if you would indicate just who is who, so I can place them properly in my report. Accuracy is ever so important, you know. Must know who's up to the mark and who isn't!" Taylor barked an order and the four made their way into a somewhat straight line. She walked alongside the non-com, her arm accidentally brushing his a time or two. When he leaned forward to see something she was pointing to on her clipboard, his arm somehow brushed against something else, and he flushed a little. He inhaled with pleasure at the faint whiff of her sweet, slightly seductive perfume. He stopped in front of each man, announcing their names, or at least the names they were known by in their working files. He explained just who and what they were, their checkered backgrounds, their specialties, or as he phrased, "what they are supposed to be good at, though I've not seen much evidence to support that!" She made little noises, none favorable certainly, peered down at the clipboard in her hand, made little notes with the pen attached by a long chain. 

"Now, let's go discuss the day's activities, shall we, Sergeant Major? Perhaps over a cup of coffee or tea?" He blushed and escorted her into his office, while he scurried into the kitchen.

Casino muttered, "for HER, he can find coffee!"

The woman exited the office, giving them only one quick surprisingly calculating glance as she moved past, and went into the kitchen, "oh, Sergeant Major, I forgot to say, no sugar of course. One must watch one's figure, mustn't one," with a coy look and what was almost a giggle; "after all, if I don't, then who will, my mother always said."

Alfred Taylor, US Army, let out a little gulp and was so bold as to say, "if you don't mind my saying so, ma'm, I would!"

She gave a bit of a simper that told him she didn't mind at all, before she looked around at the plates on the counter, four plates but no coffee cups, no glasses, remnants of two Army Rations packets sitting there as well. "I counted four men, but there's only two AR packets?"

He nodded his head firmly, "rationing and all, you know. Sometimes we all have to make a sacrifice for the better good, not that they'd do it if I wasn't here to make sure of it."

"Yes, of course. Quite commendable. Now, where were we?" as he picked up two cups of coffee and escorted her back to his office. 

The men were left standing there, and when no one said otherwise, dropped onto the benches in the far corner. Goniff had a really odd look on his face; his head was tipped forward and it was almost as if he was suppressing a grin.

"And what's with you? Look awful happy for some reason. Didn't know you had a hankering for the tall bossy military types even if they are really stacked," Casino grumped.

"Don't know for sure, Casino, but guys, let's just play along, alright?"

Actor frowned at him and started to speak, when he noticed the not-quite-a-smile teasing at Chief's face. "Chief??"

"Didn ya hear her? Music, food, bourbon and gardens. Make you think of anything, anyone in particular?"

Goniff shrugged, his grin just begging to be let loose, "not only that, that name she gave in the middle, 'aven? 'Er sister's place, where some of those shares comes from, that's what it's called, 'aven Farm'." He let the grin creep out just a little, keeping a close eye on that door, "'ad a word with Old 'owie last night while 'e was bringing in that load of firewood, getting a message out, to 'er if she's back, to Doc Riley if she's not. That's w'at I was doing when I made myself scarce. Kinda expected something, but not this fast; didn't have any idea w'at, acourse, but with 'er, don't most of the time anyways. Not just 'er being so smart, but 'er mind works kinda twisty sometimes, you know?" They didn't have time for more before the office door opened and the two made their way out. They weren't exactly billing and coo'ing, but there was a certain rapport evident. 

The WAC cleared her throat, "Alfred, I mean Sergeant Major, I really think that man needs to acquire some trousers before we continue, don't you? Especially for the obstacle course! Likely to make rather an unsettling display of himself, I'd think!" with a bit of a simper. She frowned and laid a hand on the non-com's forearm, looked at him with some alarm, "he's not some sort of public exhibitionist, is he??" Goniff refrained from rolling his eyes; he thought she was overacting just a bit, but the Sergeant Major was eating it up. He actually patted her hand in reassurance, puffing out his chest, "he'll not bother you, I'll see to that!"

A quick order and a pair of trousers was fetched from the guards quarters, Goniff hustled into them, noting they actually fit rather better than what was usually given him, and they were off. It was past dawn now, so the targets were quite visible, and for once, there were no shenanigans. She hemmed and hawed over the targets once they were collected, made some notations, and together they went on to the next thing on the list. She kept a decent distance on the obstacle course, but always in a position to see them, their handling of the various items. The one good thing was that he only made them run it twice; he's started to give the order for another round, but she'd made a low comment about perhaps spending some time alone together and having the Sergeant Major fill her in on his ideas for improvements around here. 

Back at the Mansion, she watched as the weary men sat down to another half-ration lunch, again no coffee, but this time a glass of water at their plates; she remembered there had been no glasses on the counter where their breakfast plates had been, and now, when Actor had gotten up to refill the glasses he was told to sit back down, didn't he know there was rationing of water as well??!

She spoke in a low tone, "Alfred, I've noticed their clothes, how ill-fitting they are. Surely they weren't issued that way! The uniforms I've seen elsewhere might not always fit quite well, but they've not been misshapen like that. Have they been tampering with them, trying to mock you and the Army? That seems terribly disrespectful! Aren't there others they could change into?" He cleared his throat, glaring at them, letting them know they had better not open their mouths.

"Well, I did catch them with a sewing kit out when the fresh clothes were delivered. And the laundry had just been sent out, but they'd thoroughly begrimed the ones they had on, thru sheer carelessness, so they are rather stuck with these til the laundry truck comes in, perhaps another day or two. Though they really DO look rather ridiculous, don't they," giving just a little laugh, getting a flutter of eyelashes and a beguiling simper in return, "well, certainly nowhere as sharp as you look in your uniform, I must say," her hand reaching out to brush a bit of imaginary lint from his shoulder. Goniff couldn't resist rolling his eyes this time, though luckily the non-com only had eyes for the tall blond in front of him.

She took a quick look at her watch, "Well, I really must be going! It's been such an enlightening experience, Alfred, I thank you ever so much! Will you be staying here, or moving on somewhere else, somewhere another team might need to be pulled into order?"

"Well, as to that, I don't know. Their regular, Rawlins, is off doing a training course; I understand he is intended to come back here in another two or three weeks, but I'm not at all sure he's what this lot need. If you think they're bad now, you should have seen them when I took over. Total slackers, top to bottom!"

"Well, I'm sure they'll get what's properly coming to them, Alfred. My report will make sure of that! It might not be today, or even tomorrow, but quite soon, I'm sure! They'll see! They'll get their due!"

She blushed prettily, "And you, Sergeant Major. I'll try to keep track of where you are, if you don't think I'm being too bold? I found our time together quite, interesting, you know?" She received his eager response that he'd be more than happy of that, and she left. 

The four watched as the Sergeant Major stood watching her decidedly alluring walk down to her car, a rather sappy smile on his face. Then he turned, saw then, and the smile turned to a scowl, and it was back to business as usual, and they groaned as their afternoon turned into as much of a miserable experience as yesterday's had been. Only that little bit of hope carried them through; in their cots that night, those words flashed through their minds, "it might not be today, or even tomorrow, but quite soon." They thought of it, and just hoped like hell they weren't wrong in what they thought had really happened. They just weren't sure all of them would survive another two weeks of this. Goniff had managed to force down that little bit on his plate, but had then gagged it up not twenty minutes later, causing Taylor to inform him if he was going to waste food like that, he could just forego any breakfast!

In fact, it WAS tomorrow, late afternoon, when the orders came from the new Base Commander, Colonel Joe Anderson. And if the Colonel thought this was a rather bizarre way to obtain what he'd been wanting for quite some time, a private audience with someone in a position to be of some considerable benefit to him in his new role and in a more personal sense, well, it was a fairly simple exchange, the most involved part just re-directing one lowly Sergeant Major Taylor to another post, giving a temporary advancement to a Private Jenkins to handle those duties for the brief time til this Sergeant Major Rawlins returned from teaching a training class, and immediately, if you please, NOW, TODAY. Well, it wasn't usual, of course, letting someone of that rank be in charge, but it was only for a short period of time, and he doubted anything too bad could happen.

The request of fatigues, five sets each of four specified different sizes, well that was a little odd as well, at least to be asking the Base Commander to deal with, but hardly an issue, especially since the request came with the assurance that they would be taken care of, laundered and repaired elsewhere, unless totally beyond such and needing replacement. Yes, that was odd too, but hardly worth even puzzling about.

The request that the Supply Chief be reminded, today, that the Mansion supplies were to be accurate, complete and timely, with any existing shortfalls to be rectified immediately, well, that only took a word to his highly-competent Aide for that part and all the rest to be put in motion. Keegan had been with him for two years, and he had the utmost confidence in him; the earnest young man had proved his loyalty, intelligence and ability many times over. Well, he wasn't going to worry overly much about all that; he was busy compiling his list of things he wanted to discuss with this elusive and mysterious young woman. Then, of course, he had that growing list to discuss with Lieutenant Garrison.

The money was handed over and counted, the old woman gratified to find it not only in order with her usual rates but generous.

"So, I'm to call there on Monday and Thursday to pick up the basket?"

"Oh, no, Mrs. Wilson. Certainly not, t'would be far too heavy and inconvenient. It will be delivered to you, by Old Howie. And he'll pick up the fresh clothes and the basket from you the day before he drops off the soiled ones; he'll be by to discuss specifics, times that would be most convenient for you, that sort of thing. If that would work for you? Any mending that needs to be done should be done of course. I'm not looking for fine tailoring, nothing to stand out particularly, but what you'd do for most, strong, sturdy, neat and tidy. Standard rates of course, plus a bit of a premium for the dreadful shape I imagine you'll find the clothes to be in. Men, you know! Last I saw was more mud than anything else, and ripe beyond imagining! And, you might want to be sure and check the pockets; who knows what they might have left tucked inside," with a little laugh.

The old washer woman shrugged, "yes, well, not the first foul-smelling garmets I've taken in, or strange things I've found in pockets, not in my line of work. I'm not so easily offended," having a pretty good idea what the young woman was talking about. She tucked the folded bills into her pocket.

"And when you find a set is coming along to being past mending or cleaning, let me know. We'll see about getting replacements for you to slip into the basket. Any special requests you might get, adjusting the fit and such, if it's possible, please do so and just add that to the tally along with the rest. Howie will be dropping off a basket up there, and one with you to keep here for sending back the clean things. Basket liners, do you think?"

"Oh, yes, of a surety, with one or two to spare, I'd think. They'll need washing all on their own, you know, probably each time with what you're telling me."

"Very well, Mrs. Wilson, whatever you think best. And Alice Miller will be handling the money portion of this; just present her with your totals, she'll see you have cash in hand right off with no delays. My thanks, again." And the two women nodded in understanding and Meghada took her leave.

Amelia Wilson watched as the young woman stepped back into her car, {"odd, that's what that is, odd, for her to be acting as go-between like that, and bringing Old Howie and Alice Miller into it as well. Still, custom is custom, and I've always been able to trust her to do what's right."} She shook her head, patted her pocket where those folded bills lay, and went back inside, to amend her schedule to take into account this new, rather profitable job.

Old Howie stood there on the doorstep, "and what I was told, dirty clothes go in this one, I picks it up Monday, leaves you an empty one; brings it back on Wednesday with the clean things inside; I comes back on Thursday for the basket with the ones needing washing again, stop back by on Sunday with the clean ones, and so on. We're to keep to that, and if the basket is only part full or with nothing at all, due to them being out and away, that's fine too, but we keep to that schedule. Only way to make this work, with the other jobs Mrs. Wilson has, you know. If there's anything special to be done, heming and such, just pin on a note and put that piece on the top; she'll be mindful of it; she knows what she's about."

Private Jenkins was a little bewildered, but when he questioned this change, questioned sending the mens clothing somewhere other than to the Base, in those duffle bags right along in the truck with the laundry from the guards, he just got an indifferent shrug. "Only know what I was told; is all arranged. Something the higher-ups at the Base seems to have been a part of. Never saw any profit in asking questions of their like; not like they'd be bothered answering me anyways, nor like me asking." 

Private Jenkins decided it was hardly for him to be questioning either, no matter he was supposedly 'in charge' around here til the Sergeant Major made it back again, and hadn't that been a shock! so he took the basket and lugged it up to the dorm. He opened each bundle, each labeled only by general description, "tall"; "short"; "medium, thinner", "medium, stockier". Five sets of new fatigues in each bundle. Well, Private Jenkins thought it was about time; the ones he'd pulled out of the truck this morning were disgraceful, clean perhaps, but somehow oddly mishapen. He couldn't see how even the hard wear these men gave the uniforms could result in such, and he was looking forward to putting all of those back in that duffle bag and stashing it away in a corner somewhere, for emergency use maybe, more likely to be used for rags should such be needed. The set the men were wearing now were much the same; Actor was particularly odd looking in his, and Goniff, well if he sneezed hard, he'd most likely lose the whole lot at his feet!

The men were having their lunch now, not rations, but not fancy; soup and bread and cheese only, but that soup, thick and rich with barley and chopped vegetables and a dark meaty broth, had smelled quite nice when it had been dropped off earlier by the young woman from the Cottage, never mind how it had smelled once it was hot and ready to eat! His head swam with the richness of it, the smell and the taste he'd taken to be sure it was ready.

"Just heat it through slowly, Private, that's all that's needed. Just stir it well, all the way to the bottom, mind, and don't let it scorch! Barley has a tendency to do that if you're not careful. That would be a waste, you know, after all I put in it; it's from my grandmother's recipe, and one of my favorites. The bread and cheese can either be made up into sandwiches, or toasted if you want to make the effort. And there's a jar of pickles off to the side there, thought that might be tasty along with the cheese and bread. Nothing for afters, I'm afraid, but I'll see if I can't remedy that afore long. And you be sure to have some yourself, I made sure to make enough; you have to keep yourself in proper shape, keeping up with these lads," she told him kindly but firmly, her tone getting even more serious, "I know you've taken on quite a job, taking proper care of them like this. I'm sure you'll do a fine job; the Sergeant Major and the Lieutenant will be quite proud of you." 

She hadn't stayed, hadn't made any show of intending to, made no effort to seek out the men, he was relieved to note. He knew she'd visited here before, but that was when there was an officer, or at least Sergeant Major on site, and he wasn't sure he was comfortable her being here when they weren't, her being a civilian, well, maybe, sort of. He wasn't quite sure what she was, though he knew, had confirmed she was involved in Special Forces like the team, like the others up in London. He just knew she meant him no harm, meant these men no harm, and that was good enough for him.

He'd like the way she'd said that, about him 'taking proper care of them', nothing like what others might have said, like what that new Sergeant Major had said, 'keeping them in line', 'making them toe the mark', anything like that. Made it all seem better somehow, like he was doing something good for them; he thought his parents would approve of that, him trying to do something good for those in his charge.

He went back to looking at the suggested activity list left for him by this inspection person, Amelia Halloran, whoever she might be, the one she'd drawn up after her previous visit when that truly awful Sergeant Major Taylor was in charge. He mused, {"alright, we've already done the firing range, and some work with the hand-to-hand every day. Chief worked with his knife and took time to do some changes on that leather piece that holds it, Goniff got special time on climbing, and I put him to trying and teach Chief on the sticky fingers bit, and him returning the favor with some knife work; give them both some practice that way. Actor worked on his disguises, made out an order for what new things he needs for his kit, spent some time with the reports about new operations in Germany. Took Casino over to the off-limits side to tinker with those two safes they have over there; then had them all sit down and figure out a list of what they'd need if they was to get into that fancy museum over Bristol way, plan it all out. And wasn't that a bit of fun, taking all of them over there for a good look-see before hand! Actor had even put a disguise on me, felt really funny it did, pretending to be someone other than who I am, but seemed to have done the trick. Still, they were good, they were, and Goniff DID hand back that pretty little snuff box before we left, when I asked had he taken anything he shouldn't have. Haven't gotten a call from them, so I'm hoping he didn't take anything else along the way, but wouldn't be surprised if he did. Just don't think he can resist sometimes; gets that look in his eye, like something's pulling at him something fierce. My uncle used to get that look around a bottle of gin, and that's how he described it exactly. And stopping at the pub for a bit of lunch and a drink, now that was pleasant; nice of them, standing me a round like they did!"} 

He was quite amazed at that list, the way what had been suggested would really BE proper practice for those missions of theirs, for their particular talents. {"A sight more than making them run that blasted obstacle course til they're ready to cast up their accounts! And her suggestion that they get proper meals, rations if need be, but in the proper amounts, and to be supplemented when possible with other things, to keep up their muscle tone and strength and agility - now, that made good sense! And making sure they got water in decent quantities throughout the day, especially with heavy exercise. Much the kind of thing my mother used to tell us, and her being the daughter of a doctor, she knew about such things."} He wasn't particularly accustomed to the military making good sense, and that list had impressed him.

After lunch, he would let them clean up, admire their new clothing, rest awhile, while he made out the first part of his daily report, the one that he was to make outlining all that was done while he was in charge. He'd do the second part right before he went off duty; doing it in two parts helped make sure he remembered every thing properly. He had no desire to move up in rank, wasn't trying to impress anyone for reward or promotion; he was simply doing his duty, as best he could, and fully intended to return home and step in for his father at their little shop; but while he was here, he would be doing his best, and would go home with a clear conscience.

Craig Garrison had arrived back in London, been debriefed, and was set to return to the Mansion when he ran into Gil Rawlins.

"Gil? Something happen? What are you doing here?" Garrison asked, surprised to see the non-com, the one he'd left in charge when he left, in the halls of HQ. They made their way to the commissary, shared a table and some bad coffee, and headed out together, both more than a little apprehensive.

"Didn't much like the one they put in my place, I 'ave to tell you, but nothing I could do about it, just like I hadn't a choice about taking on this assignment. I'd given 'im the training schedule, but 'e just tossed it aside, said 'e 'ad 'is own methods for dealing with 'ones like this'. Can't see it going very well, I 'ave to say."

Garrison closed his weary eyes; it had been a long time since he'd gotten any real rest, and he wasn't looking forward to walking into a hornets nest, but he figured that was what was going to happen. "Well, we'll get him off and gone, get things straightened out. Maybe we can even stay in one place long enough to get them out of whatever snit he's thrown them into. Let's just hope he's not caused any real damage," he sighed, not really believing, hopeful of any of that, but not having the energy to think of the alternatives.

Rawlins gave him a skeptical look, but said nothing, watching the young officer slide down in his seat and close his eyes. At least HE'd had a good night's sleep, since he'd got back here yesterday afternoon but they wouldn't release a jeep to him til this morning, unlike Garrison, who'd just come in off that submarine, gone through debriefing and now just about passed out beside him. He just hoped it wouldn't be too bad, what they'd find back at the Mansion, back at the place they called home for right now..

When they'd driven up, signed in, Private Perkins had happily welcomed them back, told them he was sure Private Jenkins would be quite pleased to see them. "Done a tip top job, he has, but don't think he much fancies being the one in charge around here. Can't say I blame him; a lot of responsibility, wearing on the nerves I'd think!" The men in the car looked at each other in confused disbelief.

"Private Jenkins? What do you mean, 'Private Jenkins is in charge'," Rawlins snapped.

"Don't rightly know the ins and outs of it, sir, but came from the Base Commander, it did. That Sergeant Major Taylor, he's long gone, and if you'll forgive me for saying it, sir, good riddance to the bastard too!" Private Perkins wasn't quite as shy about stating his opinion as he might have been, but he was reliable, and a pretty good judge of how things stood, so they both paid attention.

"Perkins, just what has been going on around here? Oh, never mind, I'll ask our new 'man in charge'; I presume he's up at the Mansion?"

"Well, no sir. Him and the men, they're off figuring out how to break into that big house over in Bayside, the one what belongs to the Squire. Should be back soon, though; been gone awhile and only took bout 'alf a day for them to figure out that museum job over in Bristol last week," all offered with a wide and eager smile. And that statement left both Garrison and Rawlins speechless, with mouths gaping.

Rawlins and Garrison were in the office, silently reading the reports left behind, first the ones by Sergeant Major Taylor, then the ones by Private Jenkins, passing them back and forth as they finished.

"Do you know just 'ow long I've been trying for new uniforms for them, sir? Now, five sets, ones close to fitting, and to be taken care of properly and on a regular basis, but by a local washer woman, NOT by the Base, where they keep getting lost or mangled or such? And I'm seeing no mention of us being billed for the care, and while there's no money in the budget for it, still it has to be covered somehow surely!"

"And the daily reports on the training, not the ones by that idiot Taylor, sounds like he all but drove them into the ground; I'm surprised there weren't some serious injuries there - but the ones after he left. I couldn't have done better myself, though I certainly wouldn't have put them to figuring out how to burglarize the museum or the Squire's country house! Just what the hell has been going on around here?" 

They heard the clatter and bang as the front door slammed open and then voices, laughter, chattering, congenial arguing. Garrison walked over and opened the door, leaning against the frame, waiting for them to see him. He murmured to Rawlins, "they look in good spirits," to get a faint snort of agreement.

"Hey, look, it's the Warden!"

"And Sergeant Major!" and eager greetings were given and received.

Finally, "alright, guys, just what the heck has been going on around here? No, Jenkins, you stay too. I hear you've been in charge around here; we've been reading the reports. Sounds interesting," and the guys laughed in agreement, Private Jenkins just nodding rather shyly but with a bit of a smile of his own. So they all trooped up to the Common Room and heard the whole story. They heard the descriptions of the uniforms the men had been left with prior to the arrival of the new ones, and now the men were able to laugh some about the odd appearance they'd made, including the rotating pair of trousers. They heard about the half-rations, and the taking away of even those for Goniff that one morning.

Finally, "Amelia Holloran? Just who IS she?"

"She's one 'ell of an actress, that's who she is! 'Ad ole Taylor fair drooling, eating outta 'er 'and, she did! All the time figuring out w'at was needed to give us a 'and, and letting us know it was gonna be alright, for us to just 'ang on a bit longer."

"He's right there, Craig. Whoever she is, she handled him quite professionally, all without him having the slightest idea. An experienced con woman or a very talented amateur, certainly, though who she is in real life, I have no idea." 

"Well, Taylor's reports wouldn't have done any of you any good, that's for sure. Did he REALLY put you through that obstacle course four times in one morning, and then again in the afternoon? And what's with those scores on the firing range? Were you trying to piss him off??"

He heard their loud and blistering acknowledgement of the target practice before dawn, the obstacle course marathons - along with Goniff's firm insistance that he'd been more than half-way to an early death from that, (and Garrison didn't like the look on Actor's face one little bit, like that wasn't just hyperbole but too damned close to the truth; he made a note to talk to the con man privately about that later, maybe have Doc Riley take a good look at the second-story man), the half-ration meals, and a great deal more, along with a really pungent view of Taylor and his ancestry and likely habits. 

"But your reports, Private Jenkins, I find those a little puzzling, though quite detailed, quite well done. Just what gave you the idea for all those 'training activities', if I might ask? And how did you get the cooperation from the museum and the Squire."

He stopped, frowned in some trepidation, a chill running up his spine, "you did HAVE their cooperation, didn't you, Private?"

Jenkins responded promptly, "oh, yes sir, of course. Wouldn't have done it otherwise. In fact, t'was them what contacted me, suggesting it might be something that would take our fancy, be profitable all round, the men getting the practice and them getting some advice. Just asked that we make up a report for them, detailed-like, on ways to prevent anyone ELSE from doing the same, a list of weak spots, suggestions and such. I asked where they'd come up with the idea, making sure it wasn't someone trying to pull a fast one; well, didn't want us doing the work, someone else pulling a job and the team getting blamed, now did I?"

This line of thought rather impressed everyone in the room, especially Sergeant Major Rawlins, who hadn't thought Private Jenkins had quite that much sensible caution in him. The guys grinned at each other; the seemingly rather naive Private Jenkins had become a favorite of theirs during the mess with that idiot Corporal Sampson, and had proved himself to them again during the past weeks; they'd go to bat for him any day.

"Museum head got it from the Squire; the Squire, he said Ben Miller, the Constable you know, had suggested it to HIM. I checked with the Constable, of course, and he did just that thing. Said he'd explain all the ins and outs when you got back, Lieutenant. Seemed to make a lot of sense, you know, keeping them busy with something that was good practice too, not just make-work; and I went along for the scoping out, to be sure they stayed out of trouble. THINK I succeeded fair well, but," giving a surprisingly knowing grin with a shrug, "expect we'll hear soon enough if I didn't."

Garrison rubbed his face with both hands, "yes, Private, I expect we will!" He really hadn't had enough sleep to be coping with all of this, {"leave on a simple mission and come back to the world flipped upside down,"} he thought wearily. 

"And for all the rest, most was what was suggested in that list I found on the desk, signed by that Miss Halloran. It's in that top drawer, there. Seemed to make sense, having them train in what they'd be really doing, working on their own strengths, their own weaknesses, maybe teaching each other what they knew best, more than just wearing themselves out running that obstacle course over and over, and maybe getting hurt from being so worn down. Though, I have to say, she saw more than I would have thought possible, for just that short time she was here. Well, maybe that's what she was trained for."

"Made sense doing better with the water and food, too; half-rations never made no sense to me; man can't do well for long on just that! Bad enough when it's really necessary, but otherwise, just can't see it. Must have talked to those down at the Base; rations supply showed up again, all right and proper and not tampered with like has been sometimes with things missing, and the Miss down at the cottage, Miss O'Donnell, she's shown up with all kinds of extra things to kinda fill in the gaps, just like Miss Halloran had suggested, 'supplementing' the rations, you know. Musta have had themselves a talk, those two."

Garrison refrained from the deep groan he'd wanted so much to give, {"yeah, should have figured her being a part of this! Wonder just how MUCH of a part??!"} He went back to listening to Jenkins rhapsodize, "Soups and stews and fresh baked breads, fresh veg from her garden, sometimes eggs and cheeses, a basket of fruit, scones too, and other things. Never a lot at any one time, but enough to round things out, you know? Did a rice and cheese baked dish with onions and marrows like one my mother used to make. Even a nice bit of meat once, all done up in a brace of cottage pies like I've not had before, ever so tasty! Right good cook, she is, you know. The men asked me to share their meals, though I didn't too often, mostly ate with the troops, like you do Sergeant Major, cept for those pies. And cept for tasting a spoonful of whatever I was heating up," he added, intent on being totally honest. He quickly reassured them, "but she was never in here for longer than just to drop things off, tell me what needed doing. Made sure of that, not that she ever tried, but knew that would't be proper, not with the both of you gone." 

The conversation went on for awhile longer, but then the guys went to the Common Room to play cards, Garrison went to shower and get some rest. The Sergeant Major was getting the last details from Private Jenkins before letting the man go back to his normal routine.

"You did good, Private. I'm right proud of you, I want you to know that," he told him firmly.

Jenkins flushed but gave a satisfied smile, "she said you'd be, said you and the Lieutenant would be proud of me for 'taking proper care of them'. Liked the way she said that, you know; got me thinking - made me feel like I wasn't just making sure they didn't get into trouble, keeping the training going, but doing something good for them."

And Rawlins clapped the man on the shoulder, "and you were, surely enough. Go get some rest; might want to talk with you some more tomorrow, maybe you'd be able to give me a hand with a few things I got in mind for the lads upstairs," and got an eager grin in return.

Gil Rawlins made his way to his own small room, shaking his head, talking aloud to himself, "people just keep surprising me, longer this war goes on. Ones trained to be in charge, ones you'd think you could depend on to do the proper thing, just as often come a cropper. Ones you'd expect to come a cropper, step up and do what you'd never expect; seems they're all a lot more complicated than I'd thought. Private Jenkins, the 'man in charge' for a full two weeks, with this lot!"

**

"Yes, it seems to be working, at least from our side. It's not a bad idea, if a little risky. How'd you come up with it? Private Jenkins said it all started with you and the Squire." Garrison took a pull from the glass of beer in front of him, Constable Ben Miller at the table across from him. The pub was empty this time of day, totally private, even Lou the bartender off counting stock, leaving them to their conversation.

"Well, the Squire'd been reading about all those break-ins, not just London, but Slough, Watford, Southampton and other places. Nothing in Bayside yet but seems to be coming closer; my brother is serving over there, and after the Squire got after him about what could be done, Evan decided to come have a chat with me. See, the Squire, he's got more than a bit of stuff in that big house of his; an old family, and him pretty much the tail end of it except for that nephew of his who's off with the RAF, so whatever there was as the others died off, ended up with him. And it's not just the silver and the paintings and all else he was worried about. There's one or two out there got real nasty, don't mind leaving broken heads behind as long as they get the goods; his staff is getting up there in years, as he is himself, and most been with him forever, more like family than servants, I gather. Got to where he wasn't sleeping at night, thinking he was hearing burglars; worrying about his staff answering the door to anyone, thinking it might be those home invaders what hit Ladyshire Manor awhile back leaving blood behind; I understand the butler died, and the housekeeper came close to it. So, Evan and me, we had a drink or two, maybe more, and seemed to me what the Squire needed was an expert. But Evan says the Squire had hired one, pretty high up in the ranks of the police at one time, university trained and all; supposedly all the rage, knew all the tricks, but that didn't do the job to make the Squire sleep better; said all the man told him was put on better locks and stay alert; said it was a waste of money, even bringing him in, that he didn't even look around all that much, just kinda walked through and around."

"That's when it came to me; Alice says it says something about me that I get some of my finest ideas when I've tippled a mite more than usual, though she'll never say exactly what!" Garrison laughed along with the Constable. "Anyways, seemed to me there's no one better to find out the weak points of a place than someone figuring out how to use those weak points to rifle the place. Heard the men were at the Mansion, you gone, and I thought it might work for all parties. Give them something valuable in training in their own line, but provide a valuable service as well. If it worked, would tip the favor in their direction, least among those on the right part of the line, and with them, seemed that might come in handy some time or other. Well, as long as they didn't take it and run in the wrong direction with it, but figured you and others would see to that." Garrison snorted, acknowledging the truth of that. 

"Talked it over with the Squire; he wanted to think it over, but was interested; seems the Squire was friends with Courtly, who runs the Museum over in Bristol; they got to talking and next thing I know, there's Courtly on my doorstep wanting to know more. Have to say, Courtly is right pleased; real helpful report he got back, very professional, and said the hair stood straight up on his head when he realized how open a place he had, just waiting for unfriendly visitors, how much your men had learned and just how. Said he wasn't too pleased to learn he'd some fakes in amongst his exhibits, but that wasn't their fault, and he supposed he was better off knowing than not, as well as knowing one of his staff likes to talk out of turn down at the pub for any who will listen and buy him a pint. Some of the recommendations, well, there's not the ready for that, not now, but he was able to do a lot, including getting rid of his gabster, and he's right pleased. Squire, he's looking forward to their report too; said he never heard a thing last night, when they supposedly did the job, him nor his staff either," getting an affirming nod from Garrison.

Well, Garrison would know; he'd sat in that cold car waiting for them to come back, just because, well, just because. "They were working on putting it all together when I left; the Squire has some tightening up to do too. If the guys had been in there for real, well, . . . And he's got a few suspect pieces as well." 

Craig Garrison gave an amused hmmph, "to tell you the truth, I was half afraid I'd hear Meghada O'Donnell's name somewhere in that mix. She was busy enough elsewhere!"He was startled, and gave a groan at the knowing and somewhat sheepish smile coming across the pleasantly plain face of the village Constable.

"Well, as to that . . . Here, Lieutenant, let me pour you something a bit stronger; I think you just might need it."

And Craig Garrison shut his eyes tightly, sighed heavily, and nodded, "yes, I just might." It wasn't as bad as he had imagined, though he had not imagined anything specific, just more drama and fireworks than it appeared to have actually been the case. No, this was something different, something that made him perhaps a little uncomfortable, even more than the fireworks might have done, because the fireworks would have been more, well, superficial, less layered in complexity.

"She came to me before she left one time, probably three or four times before her official service ended, so it's been awhile, asking me to, oh, it's difficult to explain. She was worried, concerned, and more than a little sheepish about that, and for her, almost confused. No, she was confused; seems this all took her pretty much by surprise, too, and she wasn't any too sure how to deal with it all." 

Garrison didn't know what the hell Miller was talking about, but he took another sip of his drink and nodded for the man to continue. "Sat at that kitchen table, her, me and my Alice, and it took a couple of drams of that bourbon of hers, and most a whole loaf of that cinnamon bread she bakes before she got down to it, though a mixed up mess in the telling, the asking, partly because the lass had just come back from wherever the day before, no time to rest, and now headed back out again, possibly. Exhausted and fair beside herself she was. Alice understood almost right off, perhaps it was just more of a womanly thing. Almost like she was, well, not upset with herself, but like she was confused with herself. Said she was accustomed to just worrying about her own missions; was used to that. Then, she'd started worrying about your missions, you and your men, but just swallowed that down as something perplexing, but something she could do little about, though I understand she kept pretty close watch thru her people, letting them know to quietly lend a hand if they were needed."

That gave Garrison pause, made him think back on times when somehow when things were going wrong up in London, suddenly things just turned in their favor up at HQ, the right word, the right memo, all at just the right time, made him think and wonder. 

"Then, when things started happening, things around here, she started worrying about them even when they weren't away on those missions. And when she knew she had to leave, and keep leaving whenever she was called, . . . See, if she was here, well, she knew she'd keep an open eye, do what she could to try and help; but with her gone so much, well, that was bothering her a sight. You know, Lieutenant, there's been more than one time when she was able to make a difference, more than one time when if she hadn't been here, it could have gone badly." And they shared a grim look, remembering those times. "So she was worrying about my men. What did she ask of you?" "Just to act, well, with an eye in their favor. Not neglecting my duty; she'd not ask that. But, well, some just in the knowing of what's what."

Garrison cast a puzzled look over at the broad Welsh face, "Knowing?"

"Yes, like us knowing she'd given each of them permission to be in her house, her gardens, whether she was there or not, them, your sister, you. Knowing each of you had her permission to take anything you needed; that it wouldn't be theft, nor breaking and entering, nothing bad, no matter what anyone might say. Knowing they had her trust; well, you did too, later, though I think that came more slowly," and got a rueful nod at that, Garrison remembering that proud head, telling him with some scepticism, "well, you are an officer, now aren't you," somehow indicating that meant she trusted him as far as she could spit, maybe less than that, as far as the welfare of the men was concerned. 

"Reminding me Doby is a lying sneak, and no more to be believed in anything he might say about them than in anything else, not that that comes as any great surprise. Asking we act, in as far as possible, as her agents, just as we have since she came to the village, only more so now. Alice has a list of telephone numbers, names of doctors, a hospital, and more. My Alice also has an envelope, funds to be used in their behalf if she deems fit, and somehow I think she and Alice have a good understanding of what that means; I have an envelope too, should there be trouble and you not be around. I know Alice has started doling out twice a week to Mrs. Wilson, who does laundry in these parts, though the lass deals with Mrs. Wilson for her own things separately."

Garrison heaved a sigh; well, at least that explained about that mysterious laundry basket that kept moving in and out of the Mansion now. 

"From me, she asked that I, well, think to their benefit, when I can, reminding me of the work they're doing, the conditions. Letting me know that in her eye, it was Clan first, of course, but then, them not far behind. Seems you and your team don't quite get the regard, the support she thinks you deserve; spoke with her eldest brother, and he's of the same mind, I must tell you, though he's more than a little amused at her vehemence on behalf of your men. Said something odd, said it was like something he'd thought long lost in her had come back to life, and while he knew there'd be sound and fury and flames and more, he was right glad to see it; that it was a true sadness, a true loss when a Dragon died in spirit for lack of a treasure trove to cherish. Well, my Alice seemed to understand that, even though I have to admit it made no sense to me, not then, not even now really. I'm a simple man. Too fanciful to wrap my head around." He gave his head a brisk shake, and turned back to the recent situation. 

"Anyways, when I heard you were still gone and the Sergeant Major as well, thought to go up and take a look-see; got turned away right briskly by that newcomer Taylor, didn't get even a glimpse of the men. Got me thinking about how to be sure they were alright, thinking that's what she'd want me to do. Then, she was back, got her dander up, things started happening and all of a sudden, Private Jenkins was in charge. Seemed to me that being in charge of them wasn't something he was particularly trained to do, though he seems a good sort, and maybe they'd get bored and, well, frisky. Thought of Evan and the Squire and the Museum, and it seemed a good way to keep them occupied to good purpose. Talked it over with her; she was mighty amused at the whole idea, and promised to retrieve any little bits that might end up other than where they should. Figure she'd be able to do that, so thought we had little to lose." 

Garrison just sat looking at the Constable, "Constable Miller,".

"No, call me Ben, please, Lieutenant."

"Very well, Ben, and it's Craig. Please let me buy YOU a drink. You took one hell of a chance. Sounds like you would have been better off juggling flaming torches. My guys, HER, your job, hell, your WIFE!"

He got a satisfied grin from that broad face, "maybe, Craig, but it all worked out. Somehow, I think I've a better understanding now, of what Alice picked up on right away. And anyway, this village, me, my father before me, his before him, we've lived here, served it as best we could. It means something to me, and the O'Donnell lass? She's done well by us; I'd like to think she'll make this her home even after the war. They, you are important to her, she values each of you right highly. You've done well by us, your team, and are welcome on your own behalf, yes, but that, that SHE, aye, I'll use the words, fanciful or not, she treasures you lot, that carries a damned heavy weight in my mind!" Garrison blinked at those words, noting the slightly glazed grey eyes, knowing the Constable had had perhaps a few more than his usual, but somehow, odd and extravagent as those words were, he wasn't sure they didn't have a hell of a lot of truth to them. {"Now,"} he thought through a slightly alcoholic haze, {"if I can just figure out what all that meant!!"}

He had, they both had, one almighty hangover the following morning, but somehow the truth, it still lay there in their minds, to be pondered over at length.

"Yes, Lieutenant, I did issue those instructions. I trust they served well?"

"Oh, yes, Colonel. Private Jenkins did an admirable job, and we are very grateful to him for stepping up as he did when he was tapped on the shoulder. And the other things, well, those were things we'd been trying to get accomplished for some time, but without success."

A frown crossed the Colonel's face, "am I to take it that my predecessor was perhaps less than cooperative in your dealings? My staff as well?"

Garrison paused, wondering how to continue, "well, let's just say his priorities and mine, our opinions, differed quite a bit. As did those of the Sergeant Major who was assigned to overlook things in Sergeant Major Rawlins' absence. My men are a valuable Special Forces team, not the enemy, and I'm not sure the Colonel truly understood that. And your staff, well, they tended to follow his direction perhaps a little over-enthusiastically."

"Yes, I think perhaps I understand." 

Keegan had mentioned the file, all that was in it. He knew quite a lot about Garrison, the team, the Mansion, from his conversations with Ben Miller and Kevin Richards, and others. Somehow, what he'd heard from his predecessor, what was in that file, had differed markedly from those other accounts, and Colonel Anderson had been looking forward to this face to face meeting. They each sipped at the small glass of very (VERY!) good bourbon the Colonel had poured when Garrison had arrived. Garrison lifted his eyebrows in surprise at the taste of honey underlying the whole, "this is very nice, Colonel; not the usual, certainly."

Colonel Anderson smiled contentedly, "not the usual at all. A gift from a new, well, I can't say friend, I get the feeling very few gain that title, certainly not easily, but certainly a welcome new acquaintance. A most unusual one." 

Garrison was getting that feeling, where something was coming, and he just couldn't figure out if it was going to be in his favor or not. He finally stepped into the ring, "you interceded on our, my men's behalf. I admit I have some curiosity as to why."

Anderson leaned back in his chair, anticipating this with some enjoyment and perhaps just a bit of apprehension, "Lieutenant, an old friend has spoken of you, you and your team. Major Kevin Richards. I believe you and he are acquainted," and Garrison assured him they were indeed. "When I first arrived, I was somewhat disturbed by the reports from that village you are residenced near, Brandonshire, I believe? The Constable there, Ben Miller, came and spoke with me, at my request, and I in turn talked to Major Richards. Most interesting, all that I was told by both of them. I admit I was intrigued. Oh, by you and your team, certainly; most unusual, both the team and the rather odd connection you, a West Point officer, seem to have developed with them. But even more, I was intrigued by the description I'd received of this Dragon, Miss O'Donnell. Most intrigued. I have tried to wrangle a private personal meeting, but was unsuccessful; it seems private personal meetings are not something she is accustomed to giving. This situation, well, it provided the ideal opportunity to accomplish that, gave me some leverage; she desired certain things, most fervently, on behalf of your men and was willing to negotiate to get what she wanted; I in turn desired . . ." only to be faced with an abruptly standing Craig Garrison, white lipped, "and you, you in turn, what??! What did you demand, what did she have to do to get you to do what was right, COLONEL??!" 

Anderson looked at the man braced with both fists on his desk, facing him down. He smiled in perhaps a little amusement, perhaps a measure of satisfaction, seeing the loyalty he had seen in the young woman obviously went both ways, "calm yourself, Lieutenant Garrison. There is no need for such indignation. She gave me what I asked for, which was a conversation, nothing more, but with as much honesty as she felt she could give. You see, my family was linked to a family named O'Donnell, many generations ago, and the stories I heard, well, if you know her, you can only imagine. The stories I heard about her after I arrived here, well, they piqued my interest and my curiosity, made me remember those old tales I'd convinced myself were only wild stories told me by a very, very old man, my great-grandfather, who'd heard them from his father and grandfather before him. We came to an understanding, she and I, and it turns out we are related, though very remotely, cousins to some hundredth degree or so."

"She came to no harm at my hands, I assure you of that, and she will as well. She is quite . . . protective of your men, you have to be aware of that. Kevin Richards made only vague rumblings as to why, and I know enough about her and hers to know I am probably better off not knowing more, but my curiosity overcomes me. I did wonder if it was you who initially . . . Well, I don't really know what I'm asking here, either, without learning more than I truly WANT to know, for everyone's sake. Perhaps 'drew her attention', might be a close enough phrase to get the meaning across. And I got the feeling from Kevin that it wasn't you; don't think he'd be quite so put out if it was, even with you being an American." 

Garrison gave him a wry grin, "I can tell you that much. No, wasn't, isn't me. And no, Major Richards isn't particularly pleased. But then, I don't know that anyone asked his opinion, either, any more than they asked mine," and the two shared a companionable smile.

"Yes, well, he'd not be too pleased, then; I remember him as a good friend, but judgmental, overly class-conscious at times, and you are right with the second part as well; I doubt anyone asked, or truly cares, about his opinion, at least in this regard. Truly a law unto themselves, they are, as I heard throughout my childhood. Still, to actually meet and talk with one I'd come to think of as only legend, part of an old man's wild stories, it was a remarkable experience. Certainly worth a few small concessions. And certainly better than her deciding to take care of matters in a rather more direct fashion, don't you think? And I have absolutely NO doubt she would have done exactly that if necessary."

"I have to agree, Colonel; her style can occasionally be rather less than subtle, to say the least."

And the two men conversed further, and came to their own meeting of the minds, one that at least hinted at a more amicable relationship with the Base than had previously existed, at least on the official-unofficial level. Individuals, well, that was a different story, of course, but at least Garrison and the Sergeant Major didn't cringe automatically when learning it was Colonel Anderson on the end of the phone line.

***

 

And Someone To Watch Over Me:

The incident with Private Leesome had been annoying, certainly, Gil Rawlins thought. The remark had been ill-humored and ill-intended, though not strictly untrue, and meant to share a little of his misery with the guys. Of course, it had only taken til that evening for that to turn around, when Miss O'Donnell walked into the pub with that 'tall, dark, handsome man who came to call at the Cottage yesterday, him being greeted with hugs and sweet words, and ended up staying the night'. Two minutes later she was introducing her oldest brother Michael to the team, and the grim mood lightened, and the little pickpocket was his own cheery self again, and Leesome's words were a piece of history.

Still, it teased at the Sergeant Major's mind, that little piece of malice, and after a few days, when things were quiet, he started pulling out files, reports and his own notes, spreading them out over the big desk in the map room, trying to see if what he'd seen could possibly be correct. A couple of hours later, he frowned at the notebook in his hand, deep in thought.

"Problems, Gil?" Craig Garrison was leaning in the doorway. Garrison had gone looking for the non-com when he hadn't shown up to take the guys for practice on the firing range. It was an odd scene. The Sergeant Major was tidy almost to a fault, organized, never made a mess, but the scene in the map room was one of a file clerk gone berserk. Files hither and yon, some stacked, some individual files laid carefully to one side. There were arrows formed from lines of paperclips leading from some stacks to another then on to a single file and on again.There were sheets of paper on top of some files, copies of reports on others. The big planning board, clean and ready for use when Garrison had gone to bed last night, now was a mass of boxes and arrows and names and symbols.

"Lieutenant, you might think I'm crazy, but yes, I believe there IS a problem."

The number of guards at the Mansion fluctuated. Oh, there was the core unit, of course, and the number of men there had to be maintained at a certain level. And sometimes men in that core unit were re-assigned, sometimes much to Sergeant Major's regret. This wasn't the usual type of operation, and to his mind and in his ever growing experience, it took a certain type of flexibililty of mind to be able to function in the way the non-com had come to realize was required. And once he found individuals like that, had them trained, knew he could count on them, well, he hated to see them leave, not just because of them but also because he purely hated trying to find the right replacement.

However, besides the core unit, there was an ever-changing auxilliary group; he wouldn't call them a unit because they weren't. They were a number of sometimes six to eight individuals who were assigned, came, hopefully did their jobs without incident, left whenever the Base recalled them. Frequently Gil had to find some make-work for them to do just to keep them occupied. What the incident with Private Leesome, one from that auxilliary group, had brought to Gil's mind was wondering just how many other incidents involved that group; oh, not necessarily such little petty ones, but others. The day to day activities, the ever changing routines, the missions in and out, it was easy to become focused on that and not see the over-all picture, but there was a rather disturbing picture starting to form from all those files and reports and notes.

"See, I expected there'd be dust-ups in the beginning. Well, only made sense, no one knowing each other, guards nervous and wary of the men coming from where they did, men nervous and wary of the guards, them having more than a little experience with such, a new routine and all. That started to change, and there's more of an easiness now. Not that the guards don't do their jobs, but there's an understanding, you might say, with the ones who've been stationed 'ere for awhile."

He told Garrison of Private Leesome's little attack of spite. "Well, Gil, you can't control everything someone says, and . . ."

The non-com frowned and held up a hand, getting a smile from Garrison at the other's concentration being so intense he forgot he was interrupting an officer, something the non-com would have never ordinarily done.

"Yes, I know it was a little thing, but Leesome said something after, when I talked to 'im about speaking out of turn and gossiping, it got me thinking. The ones they rotate in, it's thirty, sixty, ninety days at a time, then they're pulled back out again; I got to looking at the files and I made a unofficial call to a friend in Records at the Base. W'at 'asn't been in the files I received was the reason they were transferred 'ere. No mention at all, not in Private Leesome case, not in Corporal Sampson's, not in any of the others - this was punishment detail, Lieutenant - for each and every one of those transfers. Leesome made it clear 'e blamed the men for 'is being away from everything the Base could offer, and no, that don't make any sense, since 'e would most likely been in the stockade elsewise, but 'e did."

"I started pulling anything I could find on incidents between the men and the guards, and since they got used to one another, there's not been a one between the long-timers and the men, not in the records, not even ones not important enough to be put in the records, not that I can recall, or Perkins or Jenkins neither. But with the ones rotating in, there's been far too many. Some, just bits of spite, though that can create problems on its own with things getting tense sometimes around 'ere. Sometimes, it's more, like those two cornering Chief last month; that left 'im in less than ideal condition for that next mission, you know. And there's spillover down at The Doves, too, from what I learned from Lou and Jake. And there's things I'd put down to carelessness or just plain accidents, I'm starting to wonder about now, rigging just not quite right, things like that."

"Called another friend, where Corporal Sampson is serving now; 'e's spouted off a lot, bout 'im being sent as a disciplinary action, to be guarding those 'e thought were a 'ell of a lot worse than 'im, should be locked in a stockade, taken out when needed and put back, not living it up 'igh in the Mansion, getting all kinds of privileges and pampering; then, just when 'e's getting some of 'is own back, 'e's caught in some kinda sneaky trick and set up for more punishment. I'm thinking 'e might not be the only one rotating in with thoughts like that."

"I just don't think it's 'ealthy, choosing the guards for the rotation that way. Plain duty, that's one thing; punishment detail, that's another. And, Lieutenant, I 'ave to say, there's not more than one or two of those who've been sent that I'd 'ave wanted to stay, even as much as a week." Gil stopped to take a sip of coffee.

"And another thing, the Base 'as started trying to pull from our core group, the ones I know I can trust not to try and bang up the lads, not try to cause problems. They're not easy to replace, and sometimes the new ones take a long time to settle in, if they ever do."

Garrison had been perching on the edge of the desk, the only uncluttered space he had been able to find. He was frowning now too. "These 'incidents'; give me some more examples," he demanded, and listened with increasing frustration and growing respect to the list the Sergeant Major read off from his notebook.

He looked around, "it would take too much to bundle all this up, take it with us and get it organized again. Leave it all, go get started with the men on the firing range. I want to think about this some more."

Rawlins nodded, laid his notebook aside and went to holler in at the Common Room door, "thought you lucked out, didn't ya? Alright you mangy lot of shirkers; firing range in five minutes, and Goniff, with your pants on, if you don't mind!" That got laughs from the others, and protests from the wiry Englishman that 'my belt broke; can't keep the ruddy things up!'

Sergeant Major sighed and shook his head. "'old em up with your 'ands, then, til you get downstairs. I'll get you a piece of cord or something to use!" Yes, it took a certain flexibility to get along around the Mansion, and a goodly amount of it, too.

Lieutenant Keegan, Aide to Colonel Joe Anderson, Base Commander had arrived and been shown into Garrison's office. He was acting as emissary for the Colonel, and was aware that the Colonel was favorably disposed toward Garrison, though he wasn't yet in on the whys and wherefores. He DID know that certainly hadn't been the view of the prior Base Commander, or a goodly number of the Commander's staff. Now, he listened, with a keen and open mind, and that was part of what Anderson valued about Roger Keegan, that he was not just intelligent, but could be objective.

"I'd like to see more of what led your Sergeant Major to his conclusions, maybe talk to him in person, if you don't mind, Lieutenant Garrison."

Garrison nodded, "I'd hoped you would. Come along, I have Rawlins waiting in the Map Room with what he pulled together." 

Keegan's eyes widened at the mass of files, reports and the large workup on the planning board. He was introduced to the non-com and Gil proceeded to explain what he'd seen, discovered, but always being careful to not disclose any little tidbits that might prove embarrassing or cause problems, like the personal connection he thought existed between the Mansion and the Cottage. Keegan was smart enough to know what he was getting was being edited, but he wouldn't have expected anything else. Well, he didn't need to see their dirty laundry, that wasn't what he'd come for. What he did see was more than enough. He sat back and considered; he'd been given a lot of leeway from the Colonel.

"Sergeant Major Rawlins, just what do YOU think would be an appropriate way to deal with the staffing of the guards here at the Mansion?" 

Rawlins was more than a little surprised; he'd not been expected to offer solutions, just present the problem. Still, it was a matter he'd given a great deal of thought to, so he sat back and started, trying to organize it properly in his mind.

"For one, my core staff. I'd like to 'ave back the four who were transferred out last month; right good men they were, and I 'ated to lose them. They didn't put in for transfer out, that I'm sure of; would've 'ad to go through me and they didn't. Now that'd put me one over for now, since I'd like be shut of three of the four that were sent in to replace them. One, now, Private Corman, 'e just might be alright, I'd like to give 'im a chance. If that going over would be a problem, then I'd say shift 'im over to the auxilliary group, but indefinitely, unless there comes a problem. In THAT group, of the seven, there's only one I'd be wanting to perhaps keep, and that's Corporal Lewis; I think 'e maybe 'as potential; I'd like to keep 'im unless a problem comes up, unless 'e'd prefer to go back to 'is old duties. The other six, if they stay, I might as well get started on the report paperwork now, cause trouble is on the way."

Keegan raised his brows, "are you always that judgemental, Sergeant Major?"

Rawlins flushed, but stood his ground, "three of the six, I've found out, were being disciplined for ganging up on one man, beat 'im badly, cause of something personal they thought they knew and didn't like; don't know if they were right or wrong in what they were thinking about 'im, I don't rightly care. Whether or not, no justification for their actions. Putting them where they could take exception to one of the team, whether because one's an Indian, or one's littler than them, or talks with an accent or whatever, they've already proven what they're most likely to do. I don't see putting a valuable Special Forces team at risk of that, not with them needing to go out on a moments notice. Already been down that road at least once that I can see."

Keegan suppressed a smile at that, {"very smart, Sergeant Major, putting it that way, the benefit of the mission, very smart indeed."} He shot a quick look at Garrison and saw the smile in the Lieutenant's eyes, knowing he too was appreciating that little bit.

"And the other three?"

"Leesome, 'e's spiteful about the men, likes to spread some of 'is own misery around and is sneaky and inventive in finding ways to do that; don't think 'e'd get up to too much physical, least not on 'is own, not enough backbone, but the team, I just don't think they need that; can't 'elp them focus on the job surely. Morris, 'e's not malicious, but 'e's flat out lazy. Two accidents since 'e got 'ere, all from 'im not taking the time to do the job right. Aint that 'e don't know 'ow, just 'e's too ready to stop before it's finished to go do something easier."

"Cafferty, now," he paused, frowned thoughtfully, "sir, I can't rightly tell you, but something just seems wrong about 'im; can't put my finger on it, but I know that the bartenders down at The Doves, they are extra watchful when 'e's around. I asked them and they say they don't know either, but 'e makes them and the two barmaids very nervous, and Nellie and Josie 'ave pretty good instincts. Mrs. Riley, the doctor's wife at the village, she says the same; came in to the clinic when she was there and she just didn't feel comfortable with him. I'd just as soon not 'ave 'im around."

Keegan looked very thoughtful at that. "Would it surprise you that Cafferty was twice accused of rape at his last base, though nothing was ever proven?"

Garrison and Rawlins looked at each other, Rawlins sighing heavily, "not particularly, no. That brings me back to the files, sir. If I'm to be in charge of these men, I need their whole file, not with important pieces like that left out. I'm responsible for the men, the team, the Mansion 'ere, but we 'ave a responsibility not to let our being 'ere bring 'arm to the village too."

"Alright, Sergeant Major, you've told me who you want gone; that would leave you several men down if we do it your way. If not coming from the Disciplinary ranks, and I do see your point about the illogic of that, just how would you like to see them drawn." Garrison sat back in his chair; he'd be interested in that as well.

"Sir, I've been wondering if we need to replace all of them. The men, they've been 'ere a goodly amount of time; they've been in 'alf a dozen other countries as well. They've not taken off yet, and if the core team, that's twelve bringing back those four, keeping the extra two on extended trial, well, if those fourteen aren't enough to keep things in line, I don't think those few extra are going to do much good either. And, more often than not, I'd 'ad to invent work for them to be doing to keep them busy."

Keegan raised his brows at that; he was more used to hearing demands or pleas for more men, not fewer. "Lieutenant, what do you say to that? They're your men."

Garrison was now the one suppressing a grin. He hadn't expected anything like that from Rawlins, but he knew it was the truth. "As he said, my men are still here, and they've had ample opportunities to take off, in England and on the Continent. I'd not object to giving that a trial, expanding the core team by those two, maybe adding another two if Sergeant Major comes across someone likely. As he can tell you, it takes a certain mindset to work with any Special Forces team, this team in particular. They're at enough risk, have enough headaches with what we're sent out to do; I'd like to minimize all that at the home base. That just makes sense." 

Keegan was silent, thinking. He looked at the mass of paperwork littering the room. "I think you can safely start getting this mess tidied away, Sergeant Major. I'll be speaking with Colonel Anderson, and while I can't speak for him about your notion of reducing the staffing, I will be recommending we go with your plan. I'll see about bringing back your four; as soon as they are in place, I'll pull out the three in your core, leaving Private Corman. I'll leave Corporal Lewis here, but I WILL pull the others, the questionable ones, back by the end of the day; no sense taking chances there. When that's done, I'd suggest forming all of them into one core team, no separations, but I'm sure you were already intending that," getting a calm nod from Rawlins.

"I'm sure the Disciplinary Chief can find something else for them to be doing; I will also speak with the Colonel about Cafferty. I'd hate to have something bad happen before we get him out of the mix; maybe a psych profile might be in order. As far as leaving you with a reduced staff, that may or may not happen, but if we DO sent you replacements, you will have the right of interview and rejection; I quite agree, this is not usual duty, and it takes someone a bit special to handle it well." He sighed, picked up his notebook and tucked it back in his briefcase, exchanged salutes with the frankly flabergasted Gil Rawlins.

"Lieutenant, a moment in private, if I may?" 

Garrison led him back to his own office. "Just one comment, Lieutenant. I do hope you appreciate just what you have in the Sergeant Major. That was quite masterful, both in the realization and research and pulling it all together, and also in the solution he came up with. Now, if you have no objections, I would greatly like to meet your men; I've heard they are quite unique."

Garrison gave a rueful laugh, "Keegan, you have no idea!"

"Colonel, the Sergeant Major had it all pinned down as far as I could see. Yes, I spoke with the Disciplinary Chief, and yes, duty at the Mansion is a pleasure reserved for those most on his shit-list. Don't ask me how he thought that would benefit anyone; I don't think he did. I think he thought it would be a good way to cause some grief to both sides! I'm not sure he's in the right line of work, you know, sir?"

"Yes, there was some damage done, more coming sure as you're born if Rawlins hadn't spotted the pattern and gone after it like a dog after a bone. And yes, the solution Rawlins came up with could work very well. With your permission, I'd like to go with it, down the line."

Anderson nodded, "well, that's why I sent you out there, Roger. Yes, take care of that, and pull the file on the Disciplinary Chief and his activities; that bears looking into. You might start taking a look at the others too; seems my predecessor either filled his basket with some rotten apples, or he took some a little soft and encouraged them to rot. Now, tell me about Garrison's men; I'd like to hear about them from your viewpoint. Garrison's told me some, Major Richards some more, and a, well, distant, very distant relative knows them quite well, apparently, and I've some good character sketches from that side as well. Here, have a drink, and fill me in."

***  
Out of the Mouths of Babes:

 

There were a number of ways to describe Ralphie Wray. He was a twelve year old American boy, son to Matthew Wray and his wife Muriel. He was the very apple of their eye, their only progeny. He was, by virtue of his mother, the nephew of the Base Commander, Colonel Joe Anderson. Ralphie was a very handsome boy, dark hair, expressive brown eyes, engaging smile. He was a visitor to Brandonshire, he and his mother staying at a hired house there while his father was doing work on the Base. He was smart, well spoken, polite, considerate, appealing. Ralphie Wray was all that. He was also a nasty, sneaking trouble-making little twerp.

Mrs. Wilson was perhaps the first to have a negative encounter with Ralphie. She'd seen him in her back garden, and asked him to please come out, he was trodding on her new seedlings. Later, when she went inside to get another basket of clothes for hanging out, she found her line unfastened and two loads of washing laying in the dusty grass, and caught just a glimpse of what she swore to Ben Miller was 'that new boy, the one staying at Calverton House.'

Muriel Wray was highly indignant at the idea, had more than a few words to say to Ben Miller about the whole notion, and was very offensive when she met up with Mrs. Wilson at the housegoods store later in the week. Meanwhile, the washer woman had to get Old Howie to fix her a new clothes line, and she had to redo both the two loads that had fallen and the ones that had dried all crumpled for lack of a line. She was not favorably impressed. Old Howie confided in her that he wondered about the family because, "never seen a lad reminded me more of Doby Clevens when he was that age; nasty bit of work then, just like now. Come to a bad end, most likely; sometimes wonder how Doby's managed without someone tossing him off a cliff somewheres."

Josie, one of the two barmaids at The Doves, got a visit from Ben Miller after Mr and Mrs. Wray came to him about that 'little harlot at #6, tossing dirty water on their son as he was passing down the alley way'.

Ben didn't think that sounded much like Josie, though that was her cottage surely, and he couldn't see how she could have accomplished that anyway, but he went to inquire, that being his job. Josie was more than a surprised to get the visit, "wouldn't have thought it worth the trouble, Ben. Sneaky little peeping-tom got a basin of wash water tossed over him, just as he deserved, and would've gotten more if my visitor hadn't stopped to get a little more presentable! We'd left the window open, it being so warm and all, I look over and there that nasty little brat is, reaching in, using his finger to push the curtains aside so he can spy on us!"

Ben could see her point, and expressed that to the boy's parents, only to have a tirade launched at his head about taking the word of some little whore and her customer. Ben had to get rather stern, himself; informing them he didn't appreciate their language or them calling Josie a harlot OR a whore. That she was a sensible young woman who certainly had the right to have whatever visitors she wanted in her own home, and without being spied on either; that the window he was 'just passing' was a good fifteen feet from the alley, and she surely couldn't have tossed that basin of water THAT far if he 'never set foot near that window, Mother!"

No one was particularly happy about that conversation, and Joe Anderson heard a few things about 'those people!' when he had his sister up for dinner at the officers' club.

He went home crying, saying that woman in the far cottage must be crazy, she'd come out yelling at him when he passed by and pushed him down, that's why his Sunday clothes were all dirty and torn. Ben Miller sighed, explained that 'that woman in the far cottage' was away on business, had been for a week, and not due back for another two days. Mrs. Wray had marched right over to that place, banged on the front door to no avail, went around to the back only to find the metal gate locked. Even clanging that pull bell got no response, but as she told her husband on the telephone, "I'm sure she was inside, just afraid to come out and talk to me about her despicable behavior!" 

Jake caught him trying to sneak into the pub and gave him a good whatfore. The minister was none too happy about the pilfering from the Poor Box, 'though I'll be the first to admit I didn't see him with his fingers inside; just something about that smug little look, you know, when he left with his mother, and I go back in and there the box is empty with the latch broken.'

He came to his undoing, though, when he thought to take on the crew up at the Mansion. Now, he had no business being up there in the first place, and found himself being run off at least twice. Casino had found him inside, hands already tinkering around that humidor that held Actor's pipe tobacco. Said humidor went back on the table, boy got deposited at the gate with a good talking to about that being a restricted area and he wasn't to come back.

Goniff was the one to grab his wrist when he was aiming for Chief's spare switchblade. "Aint yours, need to keep your fingers off," which if anyone had been listening would have been amusing, since the one thing the pickpocket could not seem to manage for himself was exactly that. For the little Cockney to add, "don't need to be playing with knives, anyway, and sides, you gonna snaffle something, gotta do a better job than that!" Now, that last, that did sound more like the second-story man!

Garrison caught him in the map room and handed him over to the Sergeant Major with orders not to let him back inside the gates again! Sergeant Major was halfway to the gate when he stopped at the yell from the Lieutenant, and when the Lieutenant caught up with them, the boy started to pull away and run. Actor, meandering close, grabbed him and held him while Garrison searched him and pulled out the Classified maps for the coast of France from the boy's jacket. Garrison shook his head, wondering how he would have explained their disappearance, and mused with Actor on the likelihood of the Germans using a twelve year old American brat as a spy.

Chief saw him wriggling through a gap in the wall and by the time the boy reached the inside, the blank faced man was standing there to grab him by the collar and deposit him back at the gate, "and stay out."

It was a couple of weeks later when Colonel Anderson himself showed up at the Mansion, along with his Aide Roger Keegan, catching them all by surprise. Major Richards drove up soon after, his new Aide Jeffrey Ames with him. Ben Miller, along with Mr. Wray and young Ralphie arrived next and the Library was full of men, some solemn, one furious, some just stern-faced, all facing one tired American Lieutenant. He was tight lipped, but he heard the accusations presented by Ben Miller, as made by Mr. Wray.

He reached for his phone, "could you come over? I think we might need you. Yes, right away, please, it's important." He hadn't mentioned any names, certainly didn't bother to inform any of those present who he'd been talking to. He made another call, "the Mansion, immediately, please, AJ." He didn't have long to wait, a vehicle pulled up in the drive, a brisk young woman in trousers and shirt and jacket strode rapidly up the walkway to the door. Sergeant Major Rawlins brought her to the Library, but when he turned to leave, Garrison said, "No, Sergeant Major, I'll need you here."

He turned to Ben Miller, Constable of Brandonshire. "So supposedly he heard Chief talking around the back of the pub about stealing a special knife and hiding it under his bed. Let's go take a look." The young woman had a very puzzled look, but said nothing. They headed to the Dorm, Garrison going to Chief's cot and checking underneath, then under the mattress, pulling out a fancy hilted knife.

"See, I told you, Dad!" the boy said, smug look on his face. The men had heard the visitors, had seen the procession to their Dorm and had followed, watching and listening from the door. They started their protests, but Garrison cut them off.

"No, not now. This is the knife you were referring to, Ralphie?" Getting a defiant nod. He ran his finger over the blade, raised his brow and handed it to the woman.

"Meghada, what do you think?"

She took the blade, and gave a snort of disgust. "Piece of crap. No edge, metal's not good enough to hold one." She rested the blade on one finger, catching it as it fell, and shook her head. "And the balance? Hmmmph! Like I said, piece of crap. Chief wouldn't use this to clean the rims of his boots! No way he took this, Lieutenant. No way he would have hidden it under his mattress if he HAD; hurt like heck to lay on it, as thin as those Army mattresses are! And besides, you know you have to pry words out of Chief; how likely is it for him to have such a voluble little conversation on any subject? Boy's lying, he is."

Mr. Wray didn't like that, but Garrison went on to the next item on that little list, "and Actor swiped a bottle of wine from your house? Young Ralphie saw him do that? Now, just what might that wine have been? A nice Riesling? A Cabernet? Maybe champagne?"

"Actually, a very nice bottle of Mogan David Concord Grape," and Actor just about choked.

"Mr. Wray, Actor is somewhat of a connoisseur of wines, among other things. I can assure you he would not have sullied his palate with your Mogan David Concord Grape," Major Richards offered, his mouth twitching at the thought.

"I'll have you know that is a very palatable wine, Major!"

"Yes, perhaps to a . . ." and Richards looked thoughtful, "perhaps to a twelve year old boy," giving Ralphie a hard look, "hardly to someone who prefers something, shall we say, more sophisticated." Wray was fuming, and gave a glare to his brother in law for not stepping in to Ralphie's defense. Colonel Anderson was just looking thoughtfully at his nephew, who was avoiding his inspection.

"But, all of that is in consequential next to the rest, I'm sure you will agree, Major!" Mr. Wray demanded furiously.

Richards nodded, "yes, I most certainly agree."

Meghada raised one brow, "I haven't heard about this 'rest', Lieutenant. Might I ask?"

Garrison saw AJ Riley now standing at the doorway, making his way through the silent but steaming men standing there. Garrison didn't acknowledge him. {"And he arrived just in time!"} 

Mr. Wray spoke up, reluctantly, "I hardly think it is something to be discussed with a female in the room, Lieutenant," only to get her laconic, "never you mind about that, sir. Doubt I'll faint or anything like that whatever it is."

And Garrison outlined the accusation, that the four men had dragged the boy into a room at the Mansion and there . . . and the sharp intake of breath from the door came from more than one set of lungs. Goniff, in particular, looked like a ghost he was so pale, even slightly green; his eyes, well, there was more there than just the normal reaction to being accused of what the boy had claimed; nightmares surged there, and Meghada winced inside, uncomfortable pieces to the puzzle that was her laddie sliding into place. She looked back at the boy and saw the sheer satisfied viciousness in his eyes, watched him swiftly convert those big brown eyes into helpless and pained innocence. 

There was no hesitation in her voice, "he's lying there as well, of course. I'm not usually in favor of corporal punishment for children, but if he were mine, and I thank all the stars above he is not! he would be taking his meals standing up for the foreseeable future, perhaps til he turns eighteen or so. I'd also perhaps be searching out a good psychiatrist to try and get him the help he obviously needs, either that or a good exorcist. I would certainly not turn him loose on an unsuspecting public. Of all the vicious, conniving little monsters I've ever met, I do believe he takes the prize!" All that was said in a quiet, considering voice, to be met with furious denouncement from Mr. Wray. 

The calm voice from Colonel Anderson broke into the tirade, "you're sure, cousin?" That raised eyebrows all around the room, though with Garrison it was merely the surprise of the public acknowledgement.

"Oh, aye, I'm sure, Joe; I have no doubt in my mind. The rest is sheer nonsense, and that last? There's not a one of these men would hurt a child in such a way. Has our good Constable told you of the other mischief your sister's child has seen fit to get up to here, breaking up the peace of a good many in the village and here at the Mansion? Constable Miller, if you would be so kind?"

And over Mr. Wray's indignant protests, Ben Miller recounted all of the tales. Garrison added the incidents at the Mansion.

"Lies! Malicious lies! Taking the word of a bartender, a cheap little whore, these criminals, this outrageous female, and all the rest over your own nephew??! And what do you mean, 'cousin'??"

"Cousin on my father's side of the family, Matthew, and I'd take her word, her vouching for these men over your son's lies any day of the week. Though, with all else I've heard here, I don't really think they need any vouching for. And I'll be just as fine with telling my foolish sister the same thing." 

Garrison spoke up, "if there's any doubt, Dr. Riley there would be willing to give the boy an examination, of course," nodding to a grim faced AJ Riley.

"That I would; it's a most serious charge, and were it true, would call for most serious measures indeed. If it is not true, then I think some pretty serious measures are called for anyway. Mischief is one thing; deliberately telling lies that could ruin people's lives, that's a different thing altogether."

The boy tearfully refused an examination, the father insisted, determined to prove the boy right, and stood there grimly, along with Joe Anderson in Garrison's bedroom where the exam took place.

"No trauma, no bruises other than those very old ones he supposedly got by someone pushing him down a few weeks ago, and that person not even in town at the time."

Meghada cleared her throat, "that person would probably have been me, I suppose." Ben nodded.

"Found half a dozen limbs broken from my apple trees at the back of my garden when I got home, scuffs on the wall where someone had gone over. Most likely he slipped at the top and took a tumble. Like I said, I'm more than pleased he's not mine to deal with!" 

Ben Miller took a red-faced and grim Matthew Wray and a sullen Ralphie back to the hired house. Joe Anderson had informed him that he'd be along himself shortly to have a word with all three of them. It probably didn't help Matthew Wray's disposition that Ben Miller, on the way to the house, informed the man that he and his family needed to pack up and leave, tomorrow if not tonight. Any argument was settled when Ben informed him that he owned that damned house, he was the one who had the option of telling them to leave based on the contract that had been signed; there were provisions for eviction with cause. Also, that there would be a guard on the house til they DID leave, just to make sure junior didn't decide on some more cute little ideas, "don't know I'd put much past him from what I've seen."

Muriel's hysterical ravings to her brother were not received well, and the mention of their 'cousin', well.

"Not our cousin, Muriel. MY cousin; you and I have different fathers, remember. We are half-siblings, not full. Matthew, finish up your business at the Base; I want you off and gone by Friday, and I don't want them on the Base at all. Settle them at a hotel somewhere. His trying to steal that Classified map just put paid to any more work you'll be doing with the Military."

There wasn't much to say; it had all been just too ugly. Later, Anderson would apologize to them all for those 'relatives', and remark that at least no real harm was done. Somehow the look she gave him said she didn't agree with that, but she didn't say anything.

And Meghada woke in the night, and in turn, slowly and gently eased awake the man sleeping next to her, the one in the midst of an old nightmare, one he didn't, perhaps couldn't recount to her, but one against which she held him closely to her for the rest of the night. And on the nights when he slept in the Dorm up at the Mansion, Casino lay where he would awaken at any sound, so he could start talking, soft and low, reaching out with his voice to pull his friend back to the here and now. No, he didn't know what those nightmares held, anymore than his teammates knew what HIS held, but they were brothers, they did what they could.


End file.
